


Constant Conversation

by Puolukka



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Implied Relationships, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puolukka/pseuds/Puolukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard knows well his boss, Mr. Kirkland, that's when he perceives something's off with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> While sprawled on the couch I had this odd thought: _how other people see the relationship between two countries?_  
>  Personally I believe it would be kind of ordinary for other nations to witness ministrations among their kind, but for humans it's already absurd that abstract things can take a human form let alone fornicating one another. That's how this story born.
> 
> **Warnings:** I do not own the characters and more importantly I have no knowledge on governmental matters and thereof, so pardon my inaccuracies. This is a fictional story not related with the reality whatsoever.

The first time it happens, Howard is handed a dossier from the state secretary with the chore to pass it to Mr. Kirkland in order to endorse an important business. He isn't given all the details inasmuch as his sole purpose is bringing the papers to the embodiment of his country, Mr. Arthur Kirkland, without further investigation on the matter. Thence, he mutely nods as he turns around, striding down the hall until a huge, mahogany door with gilded handles – slightly worn out at that – rises like an awe-inspiring effigy in front of him. The door is frugal, nary a hint of protruding patterns or emblazonment in it, which portray in a very implicit way the upcoming character.   
  
Arthur Kirkland is an anthropomorphic personification as well as the representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. He embodies the country of England, specifically speaking. It would sound like some sort of gibberish nonsense to most people, but the reality is Howard has no idea if the man who is currently signing him to take a seat while scribbling in machine-like motions can be anything but a manmade android. His pensive frown goes unnoticed seeing as Mr. Kirkland has no penchant to stick all day being ogled at while assuming hypotheses on artificial natures and mechanic demeanors.   
  
“How can I help you?” Mr. Kirkland flatly says, not even sparing a glance to his interlocutor.   
  
Howard started a bit at the dry tone. Though, recovers immediately. “Mr. Kirkland, here I have paperwork from the Prime Minister. She would like to discuss it later.”   
  
At that, Mr. Kirkland gives Howard is full attention, lying the black biro on the old, oak desk and fixing his tie with sloppy grasp as he shifts his weight further into the chair. Howard takes that as a good omen; the tension in the room easing off a little as he keeps his distress in check.   
  
“I see,” he says. “Well, let's take a look, then.” Howard automatically scrambles to Mr. Kirkland's side, hastily handing the documents which gifts him with an askew grin.   
  
Mr. Kirkland quickly skips through them, taking in the basic information and leaving some notes here and there with a pencil. He does it twice; scribbles and underlines filling up the majority of the files until, with a final sigh, he collects and returns them to Howard's expectant hands. A mumbling 'Done' is his cue to trail out undisturbed, but whilst few inchs from the door the telephone goes off, startling him. Howard watches wryly as Mr. Kirkland greets with a wry 'Hello'. That is the first time Howard notices the cursory flicker in Mr. Kirkland's attitude. Shoulders slouching feathery, losing his usual firm and formal posture whereas his visage features soften almost indiscernible with traces of a smile around his lips. To a novice's eyes, someone who hasn't known Mr. Krikland as long as Howard has, those little trifles would be completely overlooked or minimized; his trained eyes, though, can see through the shallow facade and point out the flaws and mars of the guise.   
  
Therefore, he decides to leave Mr. Kirkland to his own deserved privacy, sparing only a last glace to the man tenderly whispering at the receiver before closing the door behind himself. 

* * *

  
  
Mr. Kirkland is guest of her Majesty the Queen that afternoon. Howard, being his loyal assistant, follows him to Buckingham Palace wherein her Highness personally welcomes them with warm greetings and pleasantries. A very posh room has been reserved for this afternoon tea and Mr. Kirkland seems completely comfortable in this enviroment, despite the classy decoration and the royal figure bystander.   
  
Her high status as Queen doesn't bound Elizabeth to regard her guests in the proper form for she is quite the idiosyncratic person who occasionally hosts parties to animate the otherwise quiet Palace. She has known Mr. Kirkland all her life, thus enjoying chatting away with him about peculiar subjects which more often than not involved bygone events; Howard tries to attend the conversation, nodding now and then, but giving in after several garbled mentions that only the two of them could possibly understand. The Queen has few similarities with a lovely grandmother ranting about his precious nephew demeanors and Mr. Kirkland seems enthralling himself in this huddle with Elizabeth as she demands to be appellate. (“Oh dear, how many times I told you to call me by my first name for God's sake!”)   
  
The small talks gradually turn into full discussions. Beginning with mere remarks, thus blossoming in engaging anecdotes which soon enough swallow Howard in a weird disputation over squirrels' inappropriate behaviour in Kensington Park. Mr. Kirkland is making a point on the fact that squirrels are natural thief, whilst Elizabeth retorts they're only following Darwin's law, hence no harms it's indeed done.   
  
Howard keeps track of the ongoing arguing by the sidelines, popping in casually with sly words either endorsed or dismissed at will. The amusing duo looks very much like an old couple arguing over whom forgot to switch off the bathroom's lights. Eventually it ends with a draw, neither wins nor loses as the diatribe has no point from the start thence it's unlikely drafting a winner.   
  
The afternoon carries on undisturbed and soon enough Howard and Mr. Kirkland are bidding their farewells to Elizabeth. Though, before properly excusing themselves, a guard calls aside Mr. Kirkland in order to take care of a private matter, neither the Queen nor Howard knows what's all the ruckus about, watching puzzled the two retrieving backs.   
  
At that the Queen addresses Howard straight-forwardly. “I shall thank you for your great support on Arthur, Howard.”   
  
At first, he doesn't assimilate that the statement is actually direct to him, so he blinks stupidly while nodding absent-mindly. Then, noticing his massive mistake, he stutters intangible words which fade away along with his dignity.   
  
Elizabeth only chuckles at his numb expression. “Oh, Howard, do not worry. I assume it's been quite awhile since the last time we properly spoke. You know fairy well I've never been fond of preambles and mincing words.”   
  
Howard again stumbles in his words, but settles with a prosy 'Yes, her majesty'. He has always been a good listener, as well as the most influent person in Mr. Kirkland's life seeing as they spend most of the time withdraw in a lavish, Victorian-styled studio. Mr. Kirkland doesn't even goes for any genre of commitment if not before talking it over with him.   
  
“You have seen it. He's been acting odder than ever, our precious lad, don't you think?”   
  
The amazement in Howard's eyes is a clear proof of the veracity of the statement – notwithstanding an alarm bell for the national safety, if Mr. Kirkland's facade has been detected so easily than it must be something crucial. Granted, Elizabeth knows him like a mother knows all his son's vices, but if she's willing to discuss it with Howard, surely it's not for a pleasure chat in order to fill the awkward silence.   
  
“I take it you noticed as well. I'm certain it would not influence him too much, but I hope you will look after him with the same diligence and care. Arthur is very hard-shelled, unfortunately.” she turns her head slightly, looking towards the general direction Mr. Kirkland is now coming from. “Take good care of him, Howard. I trust your reliability.”   
  
“I will.” replies Howard as Mr. Kirkland makes his way back, sensing the stern mood in the room and frowning at Elizabeth as if asking what happened, but receiving only a mischievous smirk. They leave the Palace in quiet, listening to their soft steps on the marble floor and the constant chirping of little birds; neither of them feels the necessity to trigger on a conversation. 

* * *

  
  
It's blissfully quiet in the room, now and then noises from outside spoil the peaceful settlement, but never long enough to distract the dwellers. Howard is filling various papers whereas Mr. Kirkland seems engrossed in God knows what, glancing 'round and drawing unabated his head in a faraway universe. He looks anxious and hectic, characteristics that don't fit him whatsoever. Howard checks the watch, almost supper time and they're still behind with work. The hitherto carried-out assignment doesn't cover but a small part of their massive job. He glimpses Mr. Kirkland checking the time as well, paling soon after.   
  
At that, a very loud crash is heard as the mahogany door comes off its hinges, almost.   
  
“I see,” comes the baritone timbre, soon followed by a mop of blood ginger hair and the sinewy silhouette of none other than Mr. Allistor Kirkland, Scotland's embodiment. “What a peculiar studio you have here. I think it fits you greatly, my beloved brother.”    
  
Mr. Allistor approaches the truly shaken Mr. Kirkland who stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. No greetings needed as Mr. Allistor seems to be as impatient as ever, longing to end this encounter quickly as much as Mr. Kirkland does. They had an upset relationship in the past which successfully improved in the forthcoming years, nonetheless leaving several hostile leftovers nowadays. Being constantly engrossed with their respective workloads neither of them has the time nor the desire to actually spend some quality time with the family, thence the UK brothers aren't what one would call 'doting siblings'.   
  
Sensing the situation, Howard barges in. “Hello, Mr. Allistor, it's a pleasure to have you here.” he scrambles up, turning towards Mr. Kirkland hollow form. “I wasn't advised of your attendance, my apologies. I shall leave then.”   
  
He shifts slightly as both of them do nothing but glaring at each other until Mr. Allistor addresses him with a brief 'Thanks', grinning cordially as Howard obliges and walks out. As he follows the path leading to the small empty hall he decides to wait there, hoping that the meeting won't turn out into a brawl; he prefers to avoid dicey dramas in public buildings.    
  
The regular tick-tacking from the big watch hung on the beige wall keeps him company while the two Kirklands are busy with what may be a national issue, seeing as Howard hasn't been informed beforehand. In normal circumstances he does attend as a witness any meeting, though the presence of his brother and the overturned kind of context kind of disrupt this routine. In order to pass the time in a productive way he takes note of various calendar rendezvous; checks the incoming e-mails and speaks with the mayor to postpone the following appointment.   
  
The tell-tale sign which makes Howard spring up from his sitting stance is the closing sound of the studio's huge door. Mr. Allistor walks soundlessly through the hallway; a cigarette between his lips and a strange scowl on his face. He stops a few steps ahead of Howard and faces him; his calm guise is an hard contrast with Howard's nervous figure who gulps loudly as Mr. Allistor sucks in a good amount of toxins and exhales it out skillfully all at once.   
  
“Mr. Allistor,” says Howard while flinching back slightly - notwithstanding the good norms of behaviours.   
  
“Howard,” greets him back. Mr. Allistor, from Howard's ken, isn't the talkative type, unless regarding matters that involve him personally. He smokes on a daily basis, but does care about his health, only not enough to let him quit smoking. Mr. Kirkland would more often than not vilify him on his wicked habits, hence the portray of Mr. Allistor in his mind is something akin to an ogre. Being the rational one, Howard knows to not take him too seriously.   
  
“I hope the meeting went well, si-” he is cut off by the peremptory tone of Mr. Allistor. “You should keep an eye on him.” Howard is taken aback by the comment, but says nothing. “He's a pig-headed recidivous nitwit. He doesn't learn from his errors no matter how many times he slips up.”   
  
His composure doesn't keep up much longer; the fed-up features creeps on as he rails against his brother. However, there's concern in it; the encounter hasn't been a professional one, it's clear from Mr. Allistor's disposition. Howard listens carefully, he knows those aren't frivolous complains, but important reminders of his place in Mr. Kirkland's life. Well, mostly it is grumblings, there's no way that Mr. Allistor doesn't take the chance to badmouth his brother; a family heritage, indeed.   
  
“Another thing, Howard.” he says. “I like you: you're smart. But I must ask you to be more attentive in the following weeks.” after a brief intake he indicates the door still wide open. “Now go. Arthur is waiting for you.”   
  
And with that, he walks out the hall and into the traffic of the busy London. Howard can only stare, puzzled before the oh so familiar voice of Mr. Kirkland calls him to urge back; there's work to be done. 

* * *

  
  
Chatters are passing from delegates to secretaries and through ministers to chancellors. The most prominent pillars of the two most influencing nations are today gathered in this conference room to argue on the ongoing relationship between the United Kingdom and the United States. Howard is facing the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, as she chats up with President Reagan over free market issues. They're too engrossed on the subject to take notice of the main protagonists' absence.   
  
When the President Reagan gathers up and gives the starting cue, the two prominent figures of Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Jones enter from the double doors, drawing the general attention. Nobody triggers a word, leaving the unspoken question lingering in the air as the late duo takes a sit in front of each other. Howard is appalled by Mr. Kirkland's behaviour, few times he happened to come late to international summits and never with the United States personification - Mr. Alfred Jones at his heels in a cordial ostentation.   
  
Neither the Prime Minister seems to overlook the odd display as she scoffs to cover her disappointment. However, Mr. Kirkland pays it no mind, keeping up with his nonplussed guise while listening to the points of the day. Few glances are shared during the first part of the summit, all of them from the two personifications. Several indiscreet eyes follow the mute exchanges while muttering inwardly about the unprofessional conduct.   
  
As break time comes, most of the room is left empty, aside few people who either for weariness or convenience are resting there. One of them being Howard, forlorn in the restricted space with American representatives and the sole company of the Prime Minister. He has intended to look after Mr. Kirkland, but it takes a distracting moment and he is gone along with Mr. Jones who, from the rumors going on, bolted outside the room sneaking him in the process.   
  
Thus far, the new position of Mr. Jones as a current ally has been kind of a panacea in spite of the past. Mr. Kirkland was truly fond of his little possession back then, both economically and sentimentally. Thence, the harsh break off has never been utterly overcome, aggravating little by little in the long run until it blew off altogether. Nevertheless, they have a great companionship now inasmuch as they have cooperated to amend those broken bonds throughout the years; and now that bond has taken some sort of romantic turn at that.   
  
“My, my, I can't believe our strict Nation is very much engaged in frolicsome activity with the United States. What a relationship, indeed!” jokes Thatcher in a light tone.   
  
President Reagan joins her, embracing the cause with the same enthusiasm. They seem more amused than baffled; _have they known it from the start?_   
  
It is true that Howard isn't the most perceptive person in the worldwide, but he supposes to be insightful enough to notice his boss' affairs, at least. Reagan's comes to his aid, confuting his theory altogether. “I wonder what must have happened to draw them together. I would never expect them to enter a serious relationship.”   
  
Again, the answer to such question is still unresolved for nobody has been informed of Mr. Kirkland's new partner. Being the familiar one, Howard is immediately harassed with massive insights on the matter, but it's clear after his umpteenth stutters that even him, his closest advisor, has no recollection of such amour between the two embodiments.   
  
Howard does wonder on the why and wherefore, but giving the poor knowledge of the actual circumstances of the vicissitudes his conjectures are more biased assumptions. He has noticed the slow swing in Mr. Kirkland's demeanors, like daydreaming more than usual while scribbling on his note pad or the most prominent one: disregarding his precious relaxing time in favour to hang around London as if he has never strolled pass Oxford's street in his life before.   
  
In the meantime the meeting resumes and this time the exchanges between Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Jones are very much palpable. The way Mr. Jones pats the other's shoulder in a gesture way too friendly which Mr. Kirkland would never allow otherwise; personal spaces is completely forgotten as their distance narrows with every words they share and the blatant ogling game they keep playing like two kids challenging on whom blinks first. It's pretty obvious that Mr. Kirkland is basically swaying after Mr. Jones who in return looks so smitten that President Reagan's innuendo on the two of them turns him into a blushing mess. Thacher isn't as much courteous, remarking the odd chemistry and literally spilling out how ill-concealed they've been, again making Mr. Kirkland so sheepish he excuses himself and flees to the loo, soon following Mr. Jones who goes checking him seeing as he hasn't returned yet.   
  
At that one of the chancellors wades in, altercating on the wrongful direction the relation is moving on. He believes that the relationship could interfere with the economic and politics aspects of the two countries, effectively disrupting the international trades. Others agree with his viewpoint, endorsing that a romantic relation can indeed mar the transition between the nations.   
  
As they lively argue on the pros and cons, Thatcher shuts them up with a dry comment. “You are, my dear gentlemen, arguing over a truly innocent love affair. You are claiming that it _could_ poison the relations between the UK and the US, but those are sheer assumptions. You are claiming that our beloved countries are going to have a ill-fated future, therefore a wicked relationship. I believe you all wish them to be happy, but disputing over a potential event is very much spoiling the present. You should stop mulling over the future and start living the present.”   
  
“I agree with the Prime Minister. We are arguing over human beings here. We can't deprive them of feelings and emotions like caged lifeless objects. They are very much humans as we are.” says President Reagan, supporting Thatcher's cause. “Furthermore, I believe it's not the first time two countries commit together. In the past countries engaged like nothing and this never had repercussions on the nation itself whatsoever. Thence I suppose we don't have to worry about it for now.”   
  
The debate ends with a mutual agreement among the participants and as Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Jones return the summit is adjourned. Nobody speaks about the occurrence and nobody asks for it. The two embodiments are left unaware of the process, instead joining the others with pleasantries of some sort. This time, they don't try to conceal the jovial attraction, reaching for one another in the very epitome of affection. Howard watches them idling like teenagers, pushing and holding playfully as if they haven't a care for the world. However, neither has showed less diligence in their works, leaving aside the amorous ministrations in order to accomplish their obligations.   
  
Suddenly Howard is pulled aside by the Prime Minister. “Howard, you are a great assistant, but you don't have to pamper Arthur like a doting parent. He's a fine, grown-up man as you well know. Do not worry for his safety, I assure you that Mr. Jones is a very lovely person.”   
  
“I know, Miss Thatcher. I didn't mean to look so distrustful. I'm very aware that Mr. Jones is a good candidate as partner.” says Howard while fiddling with the paperwork.   
  
Thatcher grins amused. “Oh my, Howard. You really are something! Now go, dear, I don't want to hold you further. You and Mr. Kirkland are always so busy, do not stress yourself too much!”   
  
As she leaves with President Reagan, Howard follows the retrieving crowd in the hallway where Mr. Jones is chatting away with an English delegate before Mr. Kirkland urges him aside. Howard doesn't step into the discussion, he would only get in the way being the third wheel, but as they walk away he feels the need to say something, anything and strides forward to catch them up.   
  
Mr. Jones turns around as soon as he hears footsteps reverberating towards him. “Oh Howard! It's nice to see you!”   
  
As he stops in front of Mr. Jones who cordially greets him, Howard doesn't know what to say, fumbling for words which run away from his mouth. “He- Hello Mr. Jones. I Ju-, Well I,” then he gathers up and says. “I wish you two a good day, Mr. Jones.”   
  
And as Mr. Jones smiles gleeful, Howard knows that there's nothing to be concerned upon. He sighs while watching them off, closing his eyes and grinning as he muses over his earlier awkward stuttering. When he opens them he hears the unyelding voice of Mr. Kirkland saying “Howard, be ready! We're going to have a lot of work to do tonight!”   
  
And he knows that nothing has changed. 


End file.
